| The teacher’s name was Charles
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| He made me feel like Jack
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| Thought Martin was late
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| 'Cause he sat right at the back
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| Thought my name was Peter
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| The time that I was there
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| I told him it was Paul
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| But he didn’t seem to care
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| Drawing moustaches and glasses
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| While on the 'ruling classes'
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| Drawing willies on soldiers
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| From Berlin to Damascus
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| It shouts out loud
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| I’m more than you
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| Making bombs in chemistry
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| And catapults in craft
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| He thought I must be far too
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| Down, for this class
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| He even told the caretaker
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| I didn’t want to pass
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| And he agreed he’d seen me
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| Cutting 'cross his grass
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| Would he keep all the marbles
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| He’d taken in that year
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| Would we stormtroop the staffroom
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| And pinch his cans of beer
|
| It shouts out loud
|
| I’m more than you
|
| There is always something there to remind me
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| Of something that I should’ve left behind me
|
| It taps you on the shoulder in a que
|
| It shouts across the street, I’ve more than you
|
| There is always something there to remind me
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| Of you
|
| It shouts out loud
|
| I’m more than you |